Dangling in Derry
by Abrae
Summary: Stephen King-style story, kinda cracky.


**A/N**: This originally was in response to a challenge on the now-defunct list IWTB. The prompts were: One character doing a favor for another; Stephen King novel/character; Plymouth Barracuda; John Byers at a rave; French Bulldog; bubble gum; balls (of any kind); olive oil; scones; advice from original char to anyone in #1

Derry Twp., Maine

Derry Police Station

11:45 am

Suddenly, Mike Alcott was having a bad day.

Not that it hadn't started off well enough: waking to the soft tingle of Lily's fingers brushing against his early-morning erection...gently kneading his tightening balls...fluttering against his chest...

No, the day had started off pretty damned good.

In fact, it wasn't until he spied old Mrs. Beasley pulling into the parking lot of the small police station in her pristine '66 Barracuda, her well-manicured French bulldog, Pierre, firmly ensconced in her lap and yapping out the side window, that he began to sense a shift in the pattern of the day.

Barb Beasley owned the Angel Pines Motor Lodge down on Rural Route 20 and was wont to call Mike in on complaints - always her own - about the noise level of visiting clientele. Alcott had tried, on more than one occasion, to explain to Mrs. Beasley that people sometimes used Motor Lodges for more than just sleep, but the old woman, a devout member of the Church of the Holy Bananaslug, would hear none of it. She regularly insisted that Alcott come down personally to eject those she had deemed "slatterns" and "whoremasters" from her premises; an task which invariably evoked a kind of mental cringe in the mild-mannered police chief.

She'd called in twice already this week, both times complaining about a youngish couple occupying the room adjacent to her own apartment; problem was, the couple wasn't, in fact, a couple at all, but two FBI agents in town on a case. Derry had recently been the scene of a series of unexplained murders; the media, the state police, and the FBI had all been through town long enough to get their pictures in the national papers, but none of them had managed to bring Alcott any closer to understanding the events surrounding the deaths and disappearances. Only Agent Mulder, arriving weeks after the media circus had died down, had been able to uncover any clues that might be of use; and it was for this reason, above all others, that Alcott was reluctant to pursue Mrs. Beasley's complaints.

The first time he'd simply tried to calm her down, suggesting that what she heard might be nothing more than the low batteries of her hearing aid playing tricks on her. She complained of bumps in the night, squeaking springs, and loud voices, but Mike was hard-pressed to imagine such sounds emanating from the room shared by the two low-key agents.

When Mrs. Beasley called a second time, smacking her usual mouthful of bubblegum loudly into the receiver as she insisted that Alcott come down to the Motor Lodge to evict the two miscreants, he had no choice but to do her bidding and at least put in an appearance.

As he drove the two miles or so down the road to the motor lodge, it occurred to him that it was, in fact, a little peculiar that the two agents were sharing a room at the deserted little inn. Maybe the old biddy was right, he thought. Maybe those two had a little something going on the side. The guy was good looking enough, and the woman...well, he had Lily, so he didn't go there. But it certainly wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

He arrived to find their rental car parked in front of their doorway, nary a sound to be heard from behind the closed door. Sighing loudly as he slammed shut the door of his own car, he loped up to the door and knocked loudly. The little redhead - Agent Scully - answered, already suited up, with a tired look on her face. Agent Mulder, cell phone in hand, could be heard from the back of the room exclaiming over some piece of news.

"...you found him where? What the hell's a 'rave' and why was Byers there? AND Langly?"

As her partner shook his head in mock dismay behind her, Agent Scully wanly smiled up at Alcott.

"Good morning, Officer Alcott. What brings you out here so early?"

Alcott tipped his hat and smiled down her.

"Agent Scully. I'm sorry to bother you like this, but would you mind if we had a word outside?"

Looking back over her shoulder at her partner, who now lay laughing on the neater of the two dingy beds, Agent Scully nodded slightly and stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

"What's the problem, Officer Alcott?" she asked, her eyes studiously locked on the ground.

"Well, ma'am, I've had a call from Mrs. Beasley here..."

"Mrs. Beasley?"

"Yes, ma'am - the woman who runs the motel here..."

Other than a sudden flush of her pale cheeks, Agent Scully showed little sign of recognition.

"In regards to...?"

Alcott loudly cleared his throat, feeling a blush creep up his own cheeks. He hated this part.

"Well, ma'am, Mrs. Beasley called in complaining of some noises coming from your room...I'm sorry to bother you with this, but she's getting on in years and insisted that I have a talk with you..."

Agent Scully's eyes grew wide, but she barely missed a beat before explaining, "Oh, uh...Agent, um, Mulder and I were arguing about some of the, uh, case details last night, and we may have gotten a little loud..."

Failing to notice the woman's growing discomfort, Alcott unthinkingly asked, "Oh - do you have some new insights into the case?"

Agent Scully looked nervously up at him, and cleared her throat softly.

"Um...well, Agent Mulder thinks...uh...that these sightings..."

"The guy in the clown suit?"

"Uh, yeah. He thinks these may be a form of mass hallucination brought on by a shared trauma, perhaps dating as far back as the victims' childhoods..."

"Mass hallucination?"

Regaining some of her composure, Agent Scully continued, "Yeah. I'm of a somewhat different opinion; while I agree that some form of shared hallucinogenic experience may be involved, I'm, uh, currently of the opinion that it's more environmental in nature..."

As she spoke, Alcott spied Mrs. Beasley peering at them from behind the thick curtains of her living room. Suddenly reminded of his somewhat sordid mission, he smiled back down at the still-blushing agent.

"Well, Agent Scully, I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts on the case later on. I'm sorry to have bothered you; I'll just stop in and explain the situation to Mrs. Beasley - no need to worry."

Agent Scully offered Alcott a sickly smile.

"Uh, I'd appreciate that, Officer Alcott. We'll, um, be sure to keep it down the next time we, uh, discuss the case..."

With that, she turned abruptly and reentered her room, firmly closing the plywood door behind her.

This time, it appeared to be personal.

Alcott watched as Mrs. Beasley slowly emerged from her cherry-red Plymouth. He could never reconcile the car with the woman, but he had heard rumors that she wouldn't part with the thing for reasons that bordered on the psychotic, and he knew better than to interrogate the mystery too closely.

Fastening a leash to Pierre's collar and reaching into the back seat for a small handkerchief-wrapped parcel, Mrs. Beasley entered through the station doors and made a beeline for the police chief's desk. She plopped the parcel - an unbreakable Corningware plate - onto the desk and sat down in the empty chair facing Alcott.

"Mornin' Officer Alcott. Brought you some goodies from the oven..."

The well-meaning old woman beamed as Alcott reached out to untie the handkerchief wrapped around the plate. A small pile of dark-brown discs came into view.

"Say, Mrs. Beasley, you've brought me more of your homemade scones. You shouldn't have..."

Mrs. Beasley poked a bony finger in the direction of the plate.

"Those'll keep you regular, and they're not like that newfangled cooking you see on the TV these days...none of them foreign spices or olive oils like you see that chef use...just good old-fashioned American flour and butter, like the kind my ma had."

Carefully re-covering the bricklike biscuits, Alcott tucked them on a shelf next to his desk for easy disposal.

"Well, that was awful kind of you, Mrs. Beasley. Now then..." He paused, dreading the next words. "What can I do for you today?"

Mrs. Beasley shifted ceremoniously in her seat and held her head high as she primly announced, "Officer, I want you to arrest those two heathens using my facilities."

Swallowing the first words that came to mind, Alcott took a deep breath, counted quickly to ten, and said, "Still the noise, ma'am?"

Mrs. Beasley pounded a withered fist on his desk and loudly replied, "Ayuh. All last night and into the mornin' - why, they were still at it when I decided to come on down here. So much racket...sounds like ghosts have taken over the place, what with all the rattlin' and bumpin' and screamin'...I can't get no sleep and poor Pierre here's been goin' crazy listenin' to all that commotion..."

Trying - and failing - to imagine any such scenario involving the monotonous Agent Mulder and his pretty-but-dour partner, Alcott squelched an urge to laugh, simply replying, "Well, would you like me to have another word with them, ma'am?"

Pursing her wizened lips, Mrs. Beasley vehemently replied, "No, Mike; I want them out. Today."

She stood up, and Pierre began yapping. Alcott stood up with her, wanting to talk some reason into the old woman.

"Mrs. Beasley, they'll be gone in another day or so - we've just got some things to wrap up here..."

Despite the fact that she was barely half Alcott's height, the look she gave him sent shivers down his spine.

"Today, Mike. I want them out today."

With that, she turned and waddled out of the station, leaving a dumbfounded Alcott in her wake.

Angel Pines Motor Lodge

12:32 pm

When Officer Alcott exited his car, his ears were met by the sounds of muffled moaning emanating from behind the agents' door. As he slowly approached, he heard the voice of the presently not-so-monotonous Agent Mulder calling out, "Scuullleeeeee...ohhhh God..."

Creeping quietly up and leaning an ear close to the door, Alcott overheard Agent Scully saying sweetly, "Tell me what you want, Mulder...ask nicely..."

Alcott jerked back, half in shock, half in alarm at the vague stirrings her sultry sighs produced in him. He reached up and pounded loudly on the door, and the agents fell silent.

He knocked again, and Agent Scully nervously called out, "Who is it?"

Smothering a creeping smile, Alcott replied, "Mike Alcott, ma'am. Can I have a word with you?"

Rushed and incoherent whispers followed his query, and Agent Scully called out, "Uh...uh...can this wait? I'm, uh...I just got out of the...um..."

"Sorry, ma'am, it's kind of urgent."

A flurry of bedlinens and one loud "Ouch!" ensued.

When Agent Scully finally opened the door, peering out at Alcott from behind its chain, his detective's eye took in her disheveled hair, flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and the blue button-down shirt that she had wrapped - unbuttoned - around her small body. Peering into the darkened room, he noted that the gray blanket of the bed closest to them was pulled up over a long, lanky form, covering him from head to - he assumed - toe. Only his hands, pulled up above his head and handcuffed to the rickety bedframe, were visible.

Agent Scully breathlessly began, "Um, we're, uh...could you..." before giving up and asking resignedly, "What can we do for you, Officer Alcott?"

Considering the agents' predicament for a quiet moment, Alcott reached into his uniform pocket, removed his keychain and began extricating one of the keys from the jingling ring.

"Agent Scully, Mrs. Beasley's going to drive me crazy if you all don't quiet down."

Agent Scully blushed bright red and nodded in embarrassment.

Alcott smiled back and continued, "Now, about ten miles down the road there's a lake - Lake Quiny - and I've got a little cabin there. It ain't much, but I think it'll do..."

Handing a stunned Agent Scully a small skeleton key, Alcott explained, "Just take the left turn-off at route 5, go about two more miles down the road, and there'll be a little log cabin off to your right. 120 Quiny Pines Road. You can't miss it - it's the only place for miles. You all head on down there, and we'll get together tomorrow morning to wrap things up..."

Agent Scully opened her mouth as if to voice a protest; she paused, however, and merely mumbled, "Thank you."

Alcott smiled again, a little more broadly than before.

"Always happy to help out a friend. You know, Lily - that's my wife - she worked with me on the force in Bangor for years before we ever got together..."

Agent Scully blushed, as demurely as possible for a woman with a man handcuffed to the bed behind her, and whispered again, "Thank you."

From behind her, a muffled voice called out from under the blanket, "Thanks, Officer Alcott."

Alcott turned to go; but before Agent Scully could shut the door, he looked back at her and said, "And, Agent Scully? A word of advice?"

Agent Scully cracked the door open a little wider and said, "Yes, Officer?"

Alcott shook his head slightly, saying, "Those kind of handcuffs are hell on the wrists, if you don't mind my saying so. Have a look in the lowest drawer of the bedroom bureau - I think you'll find something a little more to your liking, and certainly more to his."

Agent Scully's expression got caught somewhere between a scowl and a smile, and, rolling her eyes a little, she replied, "Gotcha.

Alcott heard the door click shut behind him as he sauntered out into the sunny afternoon.

Suddenly, the day was looking up again.

~finis~


End file.
